You Don't Like Me, You Just Want The Attention

790 37 4


My head churned like rusted gears, clanking together to try to remain working. An itch forcefully made an enormous bellow of a cough escape my mouth, and a sneeze followed not long behind.

I didn't want to accept the fact I was sick, I never did. But by the way my ears popped, my throat ached, and the way I cringed when I started unraveling the blankets from their retched grasp; I knew I was sicker than a dog.

“Parv?” Ryan said loudly, making a piercing echo throttle through my ears that seemed abnormally gentle. 

“What Ryan?” I hissed in return, snuggling deeper into what seemed to be heaven for me. The bed.

“You awake?” He asked, the door's hinges creaking as he ruptured the door to commence. 

“No,” I replied simply, rubbing at my Rudolph brightened nose.

He laughed, weighing down the mattress as he sat upon it. 

“You don't look so good,” he stated with confidence, as if I already didn't know that I looked like a pasty ghost that should of gone away when Halloween had past. 

“I don't feel so good either,” My mouth expanded and a hoarse cough exploded from within my throat. 

Ryan jumped back, flabbergasted and appalled written all over his muscular features. Suddenly, he fiercely started rubbing his t shirt where I bargained some of my germs had lingered on. 

“Parv! Don't get me sick!” He shouted, his eyebrows dancing together.

“Then leave doofus before I just might not be able to control my coughs,” I opened my mouth and started to fake cough — the coughs seeming piddly compared to the one I had just managed to accumulate before. 

Ryan scurried out of the room, a cringe playing his lips. Taking the opportunity to get some extra needed rest, I flipped over and instantly the reality of the world was convulsed into the back of my head while the hypnotic spell of sleeping took over. 


Even from the doorway I can see the visible chapped lips of Parvati Jones. The once angry, bitter, and tense girl now seemed vulnerable under the colossal amounts of comforters that had managed to rack up on her bed. Her soft strokes of breaths made me wince, making me wonder the pain that must of throttled through her neck when she did so. 

Her skin tone was washed out and pale, giving it an icy illusion underneath the beige satin blanket that engulfed her in heaps. There was no doubt that she was sicker than sick.

Jogging out of her room faster than I had came, I thought of a plan that would surely satisfy her for day six out of thirty.


The bed creaked when an unknown presence laid upon it, the warmth of their body connecting with mine. A soft finger trailed against my exposed shoulder that had peaked out from underneath my cotton embroidered shirt.

“Someone is sick,” he whispered gently while he lowered his body next to mine. His mounds of hair frolicked on the pastel pillows, his face inches away.

“Ye-” I stopped talking after my voice had began to cripple. My eyelids drooped, my temples stinging as it brewed another headache.

“I have something for you,” he commented while cutlery yapped in the background. 

My dark blue pools opened slightly to reveal a bowl of chicken noodle soup, a grilled cheese, and a cup of orange juice with no pulp. Staring at it for what seemed like a decade, he finally spoke up.

“I make a mean grilled cheese,” he stated confidently, taking my staring expression and thinking I was disgusted instead.

“It looks so yummy but I don't want to move,” I said humorously with a cough. 

“Who said you had to move? Well, you sorta have to move. Just sit up and I'll take it from there.”

I reluctantly turned over, sitting up on the headboard. My body throbbed and my head exploded with what seemed a million fireworks. 

I watched as Justin fluffed my pillows and began digging the spoon into the steaming soup. He rose it and made airplane noises as he brought it closer to my mouth.

“Open up!” he chimed in, a cheeky smile prolonging his coral lips. 

I glared, my mouth dropping slowly as my eyes never strayed from his. The warm delectable soup eased my raspy throat, but it had also tampered with my emotions as I lunged forward grasping Justin Bieber into a hug that even startled him.

“T-thank you,” I stammered, releasing him from my death grip.

He smiled - not a confident grin that made you feel irritated with him for being so cocky, but a real smile that forced you to smile in return.

And so I did, I smiled back with a sick expression. And then I puked.

All over teen pop sensation, Justin Bieber.


I held her hair as the sounds of her gagging relished through the bathroom. The puke had been washed off of me but Parvati soon went in for seconds, this time making it into the toilet instead of on me.

Although instead of being vomited on I would of took a thank you kiss on the cheek, I did indeed have something against the brown haired puking beauty that sat on her knee's in front of me. 

“I.. I am soso s-sorry Justin,” she said weakly.

“As long as I know you didn't puke because of my famous grilled cheese then I'm happy,” I chuckled, her slow laugh harmonizing mine.

“Thank you, Justin.”

“Anything for my thirty day girlfriend,” I whispered, brushing a lingering hair from her face.


I snuggled deeper into the mattress, chewing the grilled cheese with a look of astonishment.

“This is really good!” I cooed.

He smirked, I know.”

After I was done eating like a slob, I lowered myself back down and tensed up when I felt his body cuddle into my side. His head rested on my stomach, making it feel uncomfortable to breath. 

“In the next thirty days my goal is for you not to tense up when I touch you,” he retorted when he felt my stomach muscles tighten. 

“Oh,” I blurted out, a deep blush coiling around my cheeks that wasn't obtained by sickness. 

“Mhmm,” he cooed gently as if he were falling asleep.

The one thought that struck me like a shock was that he was so caring and nurturing. This made my mind filter into thoughts of marriage where a white picket fence laid around our suburb house, mini Justin's trampling around the severed grass. I thrusted those thoughts away after I mentally slapped myself for thinking that maybe this was even real.

“Want to watch a movie?” he offered, taking my baffled expression into consideration. 

I nodded timidly, watching carefully as he slid The Last Song into the DVD player. I smiled thinking of how maybe he really did know me better than I would have pondered. But then my mind raced to the thought of reality: he doesn't like me, he just wants the attention.

On day six I was sick and he took care of me, even after I puked on him. 

On day six I thought about marriage and how he'd act with children.

30 Day BoyfriendRead this story for FREE!